Chapter 3
"So... no pet names, huh?" Harry asked, his voice muffled by the damp washcloth he now held over his nose.
I didn't answer him and continued to busy myself putting away all of the unneeded supplies that I had earlier pulled out, the sound of his cartilage snapping back into place still rattling around in my brain. I tried to push the thought away, cringing.
"Not from you," I answered finally, flicking the light of the bathroom off and walking out the door, leaving him sitting on the toilet. I heard him scramble to get up and follow me out, cursing under his breath that I had left him sitting in the dark.
I walked down the hallway towards the kitchen with Harry hot on my heels and am halted in my tracks when he jumped in front of me. I exhaled and put my non-injured hand on my hip, waiting for whatever it was he was going to spew.
"What's your deal with me?" He grumbled, taking a frustrated breath through his mouth due to his current inability to use his nose.
I flitted my eyes from his face and to the kitchen, reaching up to grab the blood-soaked washcloth from his grip. Harry looked confused as I pulled it away from him and walked around his staggering frame to the sink a few steps away. He turned to watch me as I jerked the tap on and ran the rag under the water, ringing it out and watching the blood drain away. I turned the tap off and proceeded to neatly fold it in half.
"That's just it," I said softly, as I made my way back over to him. I placed the cloth back over his nose and guided his hand up to support it. "I don't have any deal with you. I'd prefer it if you just called me May. It's rude to call people endearing names whom you aren't sufficiently acquainted with or if you don't know that they are okay with it. I sure hope you don't pick girls up that way, it can make them feel very targeted and uncomfortable."
Harry shuffled awkwardly on his feet, looking down at the ground, as I walked back into the kitchen and over to the freezer. Opening it up, I pulled out an icepack, grabbing some paper towel from the counter to wrap it in and held it against my bruised hand. I refrained from audibly moaning at the relief, not having realized just how bad it had been hurting up until now.
"'M sorry," Harry grunted finally as I looked up at him, resting my hip on the counter. "I was just trying to be nice. Hard to do anyway with someone who hates you."
I rolled my eyes again. "I don't hate you."
"Fuckin' seems like you do!" Harry said a little loudly, throwing his open arm out in front of him. I glanced to his hand, noticing rings adorned on most of his fingers. They caught and gleamed in the light, some part of me wanting to walk over and exam each one individually.
I cleared my throat, tearing my vision back up to his face. "Because I punched you? I only did it because you scared me! You know that."
"Not because you punched me," he said, and his voice had risen yet again. "Because you haven't been nice or talked to me. I've tried this whole time to crack jokes or make conversation and you've done your best just to act like I'm not even here."
"Been nice?" I scoffed. "I'm sorry, did you want me to be bowing at your feet? To offer you a drink or maybe some fucking turn down service? I don't really know what you expected, but even though I punched you, I don't owe you anything. That includes kindness."
My drunk fury came back full force and I clenched my jaw.
"I didn't mean that, and you know it!" Harry yelled. "You keep trying to twist my words around-"
"Oh, that's what you think?!" I exclaimed. "I am doing no such thing-"
"Yes, you are! Jesus Christ," Harry aggressively ran a hand through his hair, grabbing it at the roots. "I'm saying that I want to be your friend or at least be cordial with you and I don't even fucking know how! You aren't giving me any indication on how to do that. I'm sorry if I came off as weird or creepy, but you need to use your words and tell me that – not just wait until the last thing that sets you off!"
"Be my friend?! Why the fuck would you want to be my friend after all of this-"
"Friendly! God, I meant to be friendly considering you're bringing me to your goddamn house-"
"Stop interrupting me!" I screamed and threw both of my hands up in the air without thinking, bringing them right back down again. My bruised hand slammed off of the counter that I hadn't realized I had been so close to and I hissed, my knees buckling slightly. The icepack fell out of my grip and went clattering across the floor, landing right in front of Harry's feet.
"Christ, May!" Harry muttered and rushed over to me, dropping the cloth out of his hands so that it landed on the floor beside the ice pack with a soft 'plop'.
I refused to look up at him as he knelt down in front of my hand, trying to blink away the tears that had formed in the corners of my eyes. I refused to let him see me cry. It wasn't so much that the pain had been unbearable, just that I had been so shocked at the impact. The once dull throbbing had turned into a ceaseless, painful pulse synchronized with my now elevated heart rate.
Biting my tongue, I threw my head back to look at the roof – willing the slickness in my eyes to subside. Of course, this had to happen. Of course, it had to happen right now.
Harry's hands hovered above my arms and I could tell that he was nervous, that he was hesitating to touch me. He seemed anxious about our proximity and also worried about making the wrong move, causing me to lash out.
I did feel bad about painting him as the villain tonight. I genuinely think that his nicknames and banter came from a good heart, but I have just had too many negative experiences with men for that to be something for me to find pleasant or charming. I shouldn't have been so quick to tear into him.
"Can I see it?" Harry asked softly after about a minute.
"It's fine," I murmured and had the urge to shrug off his impending touch. His hands stayed glued an inch from my arms. I could feel goosebumps pepper my skin and cursed my body internally.
"Bullshit," he whispered. "It's definitely more than just bruised." I could sense him trying to crane his neck to see the hand that I have hidden against my chest, but I refused to reveal it.
"I didn't hit you that hard," I said.
"Well - you did actually. You broke my nose," he replied with a short laugh. "And even if you hadn't, you hit that countertop pretty fucking hard."
I didn't reply and just squeezed my eyes shut, trying not to think of how embarrassing that must of looked. Especially during an argument.
"Please," Harry said again, a small whine buried in the tone of his voice. "Just let me take a quick peek. I've thrown a lot of punches. I'll be able to tell if something is wrong."
I knew that he was trying to be nice, but I still decided to glare at him. Him telling me that he's thrown a lot of punches makes me less inclined to be vulnerable enough to show him my injury. But, after a heated back-and-forth debate in my head, I gently removed my hand from my chest and held it out to him.
He removed his hands from their hovering position beside my arms. I watched them closely as he moved them to my hand, wondering if they had gotten tired from hanging aimlessly in the open air like that for so long.
Making a move to grab my palm, he quickly stopped himself and looked up at my face. "Is it okay if I touch you?"
"Yeah, it's fine," I told him, wanting to add to be gentle, but also not wanting to seem weak. Instead, I held my breath and braced for the imminent pain to come.
But there was no pain. Or hardly any, anyway.
Harry was very gentle as he cautiously put his fingers underneath the back of my hand, turning my exposed palm over to take a better look at the damage. He gently ran the pads of his fingers over top of the red that bloomed from my knuckles.
I had a sudden urge to laugh. It was quite funny to think that the man I had punched was now inspecting the injury that I only acquired from said assault. I decided to keep that thought to myself though because I didn't want to risk pissing him off again – especially with my bruised hand laying helpless in his palms.
"Does this hurt?" Harry asked and softly spread my index and pinky finger apart. I winced slightly, and he stopped the action as quickly as he had started it. "Not that badly," I said.
"Mm." He nodded and brought his fingers back to the top of my hand. "Would you tell me if it hurt badly?"
I paused for a split second and quickly replied, "Yes." The defensiveness in my voice was apparent and I pretended to cough.
Harry just shook his hand and chuckled, carefully closing both of his hands over mine.
"You may have been right. I don't think that it's broken, maybe sprained because of how fast the swelling came on and the fact that it's pretty hot where the bruise is," I nodded my head as he spoke, grateful that I at least wouldn't have to scramble to the hospital after he left. "You should be fine as long as you continue to ice and elevate it."
"Thanks... Shit. Where did my icepack end up?" I asked, remembering all too quickly that I had sent it flying across the room.
"I'll grab it," Harry said and got up off his knees.
As soon as he stood, I noticed blood all over the front of his shirt. I didn't get a good enough look at it before he turned away from me and can't tell if it's old or from just now, considering he had left the cloth behind to come and examine my hand.
When he returned, he had both the cloth and icepack in his hands. I glanced at his nose and was grateful to see that the blood had stopped pouring from his nostrils. Unfortunately, the entire injury in itself seemed a lot more swollen and sunken shadows had now arisen under his left eye.
Fuck. Did I give him a black eye too?
"Uh – you can just put them in there," I said, motioning to the sink.
Harry nodded and placed the items gently down on the stainless steel. "You should wrap your hand." He muttered. "Just to keep it in place."
"I don't have anything to wrap it with. I think it'll be fine though. I'll just keep it iced and elevated like you said," I told him and quickly added, "Thank you."
He didn't respond and instead leaned against the counter to look at me, yawning as he did. I glanced over at the clock and almost choked. It was nearly 4:00 A.M. When did it get to be that late?
"I guess I'll go then." he said and I wasn't sure what to do or how to respond. I looked down at my hands, wishing I could wring them together.
"Okay, yeah. Do you live far?" I asked out of courtesy, not really caring if he did or not, but when he answered, that same pang of guilt racked through me.
"Around an hour bus ride." He shrugged.
I swallowed. Ugh. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
My inner self was screaming – no, hollering at me to just let him go. Let him take the hour bus ride home, this was not my problem. I shouldn't care that he had to take that long commute at 4:00 A.M and that it could be dangerous – especially in this area... He probably would've done it anyway if he had been at the club. But what if he was supposed to stay with his friends tonight? And now wasn't because I fucking punched him and dragged him here?
Fuck.
Shit.
Don't do it.
Do not do it.
"You can stay the night if you want." I blurted.
I did it.
Why did I fucking do that?
I looked up at Harry, embarrassed. Not embarrassed at the offer, but embarrassed because I wasn't sure how to properly handle the emotions going on in my own head. Why couldn't I just be unfeeling? Why did I always have to go out of my way to do the most, even for people I barely know?
Harry raised an eyebrow at me. "I don't have to. I don't mind the ride-"
"No, really. It's fine." I said to him, despite every part of me internally screaming that it was not, in fact, fine.
"You say that a lot and I'm not so sure you always mean it," he replied with a small grin.
Smart man.
"Well, I mean it this time. I can wash your shirt while you're here, too." I pointed to his shirt and he looked down, frowning when he saw the blood. I guess this was the first time he had noticed it.
"Shit, eh," he muttered, grabbing at the material to study the tainted areas. "You don't have to wash it, though. And it's fine, I really will be okay to go home. Swear on it, Killer."
"For God Sake's, I can tell that you're fucking exhausted and I'm not letting you travel an hour home after I already ruined your night by dragging you here due to your broken nose and black eye," I told him, not even waiting for a reply as I headed over to my bedroom. Throwing open the chest at the end of my bed, I grabbed an armful of blankets and sheets.
"Black eye?" I heard him whisper and cringed at myself for having let that slip. Maybe that should have been something he found out about on his own.
I walked back in, holding all of the nighttime supplies in my hands and headed over to the couch, dropping them on top. Harry was still standing in the kitchen, eyeing me.
"Stop doing that," I said and turned to look at him.
"Doing what?" He asked.
"Staring at me."
"I'm not."
"You are."
We were both silent.
"I'm just trying to understand ... you do your best not to talk to me as much as possible and avoid every question that I've asked tonight, yet you're willingly letting me sleep on your couch?"
"I'm trying to be fucking hospitable after you told me that you thought I hated you, you dick!" I snapped at him and immediately regretted my choice of words. "Fuck, sorry. I didn't mean dick... I just mean – whatever. I'm just trying to be nice. And you aren't staying on the couch, I am."
The expression of amusement was wiped from Harry's face. "What? We're both sleeping on the couch? I mean definitely not where I thought this was going, but you're super fucking hot and I would be lying if I told you I hadn't thought of it-"
"Stop!" I shouted, furrowing my brows. "You're insane. No. We are not both sleeping on the couch. I am sleeping on the couch and you're sleeping in my bed."
Harry just stared at me.
"No sex." I clarified, ridiculed that I even had to make that known. Why would you want to fuck someone that you've been screaming at the whole night, anyway?
"Is that your final offer?" he asked with a cheeky grin and I had the urge to punch this man yet again. Despite this, he shook his head. "But you're the fuckin' insane one if you think I'm going to willingly sleep in your bed while you're out here."
"Because you'd rather I was in it?" I gaped, completely in awe at how shameless this man was.
"No!" he said with a loud laugh. "I mean, yeah, would be better if you were but no as in, I'll sleep on the couch and you sleep in your bed, weirdo."
"We're not fighting about this one." I told him. "Give me your shirt."
"Um, yes we most certainly are," he said and pulled his shirt over his head. My entire mouth went dry at the sight of his ink-speckled torso and it took absolutely everything left in me not to stare. "You next," Harry winked as he threw the now balled-up fabric at me. I ignored him as I caught it, thankful for it diverting my attention.
"Follow me," I told him and scooted into the hallway. He obeyed and I walked him down to my bedroom, now extremely nervous for some reason.
I'd never had a guy in my room unless it's been a serious boyfriend. Especially not the room I moved into for University. Whenever I'd hooked up with or had one-night stands with someone, I'd always gone to their place. There was more security in knowing that I could willingly leave their home, rather than try to force them out of mine.
Also, my room was extremely personal to me. I had decorated it with pictures of my friends, posters of my favourite bands, had all of my books displayed on the shelves, and it generally wasn't something I liked to show to people unless I was really close to them. It was a certain type of vulnerability that I was not comfortable with, almost like my room was my safe space. A space where I could be myself, be alone, find tranquillity in my own company – having someone random in there defeated the purpose.
I had half a mind to admit this to him, to tell him not to judge me – but then I also realized that past the door were things that I loved, a space that is dedicated to what made me happy and if he had anything to say about it then I would just have to grit my teeth and bear it. He wasn't allowed to make me feel belittled for what I was passionate about.
"This is my room," I murmured, throwing the door open to let him in. I wanted to squeeze my eyes shut, nervous about how he was going to react to it when he stopped dead in the doorway.
"What the hell? I thought we were going to the laundry room. I already told you that I'm not sleeping in your room," he growled and reached past me for the doorknob, pulling it shut again.
I gawked at him.
"Why would I take you to the laundry room with me? Some fucking nerve you have. This is my home; you'll sleep where I want you to sleep!" I gripped the doorknob over his hand, trying to force it back open, but he overpowered me and held it shut.
"Fine, I guess I'll just go then," he said simply, releasing the doorknob. I didn't expect the sudden absence of pressure and fell inwards on the door that I had moments ago been trying to force open, landing on the carpet of my bedroom.
"You're a dick!" I shouted at him, scrambling to get back on my feet, as he sauntered back into the hallway.
"And you're fuckin' stubborn!" he shouted from the hallway.
I rushed out of my room to find him with his arms crossed and facing me right out front of the kitchen.
"You're just gonna leave without a shirt then?" I scoffed, dangling his bloodied attire on my finger – taunting him. "It's pretty cold out."
He shrugged. "Keep it. Maybe one of your nice neighbours will lend me something."
I narrowed my eyes, glaring at him, taking a few steps forward until we were less than a foot apart. He did the same, both of us refusing to break eye contact.
"I'll sleep on the couch." He finally said. I went to interject, but he spoke again before I got the chance. "Why's it such a big deal? You want me in your bed or something?"
Again, I went to speak but he silenced me by leaning down until his hair was brushing my forehead. He slowly moved his mouth to the shell of my ear. An inadvertent shiver ran up my spine. "Is it some sort of sexual fantasy for you – having a guy sleeping in your bed while you're not there? Is there anything, in particular, you want me to do-"
"You fucking pig!" I yelled and shoved his chest as hard as I could to get him away from me, feeling that same searing pain rip through my hand. This time, my fury prevented the pain from crippling me. "You will sleep on the couch now, just for that."
Harry laughed and threw a triumphant fist in the air. He grinned maliciously at me and my nostrils flared with rage.
You can't punch him again. You can't punch him again. You can't punch him again. You can't punch him again.
Can you punch him again?
No!
You cannot punch him again.
I angrily shook my head and turned on my heel, shouting behind me, "Last time I try to be fucking nice. Maybe I'll bleach your shirt."
I could hear Harry's laugh all the way up the hallway and cursed to myself by the time I reach the laundry room. I held the white shirt in front of me, looking over the bloodstains and groaning when I realized that I was going to have to soak it before I could wash it. There was no way I could get this back to him tonight.
Instinctively, I reached out to toss the door shut but a foot jutted in at the last second and prevented me from doing so. I scowled at a grinning Harry who appeared in the doorway.
"How's my blood look?" Harry asked, angling his head to the side.
I sighed, dropping the shirt onto my lap for further inspection. "You're an idiot. Can't I just have two minutes of peace this whole night?"
"I'd rather fuck you." He said and I whipped around.
"What?"
"I said I'd rather fuck with you. Jesus, what did you think I said?" He teased and leaned forward to grab the shirt from my lap, my mind still reeling. It was too late for this banter. Or was it too early? What fucking time was it again?
"You don't need to wash it. It's got too much blood on it. I'll just throw it out." he said after a beat, yanking me from my thoughts.
I looked at him, bewildered.
"Are you insane?" I asked.
"Apparently, according to you."
"You're just going to throw out a perfectly good shirt because it has blood on it?" Harry shrugged, holding it in one hand and bringing the other up to thumb at his lip.
"I can never get blood outta my shit," he muttered.
"Lucky for you," I chided, grabbing the shirt back out of his hands. "You've got a girl who can do it for you. If I threw a pair of pants away every time I got blood on them, I'd be fucking broke. I'll handle this."
I looked over at Harry, who seemed very entertained. He put his arms up in mock defence. I could feel him watching me as I brought the shirt over to the basin.
"Unfortunately," I huffed, trying to shake the feeling of his eyes on me. "It's girl code to never reveal our stain-erasing secrets. So, you'll have to leave while I do this."
He threw his head back with a cackle. "Ah, you're lucky your girl code got rid of me this time, but it won't always be the case."
I turned the water on, expecting him to leave me be, but looked back with a sigh to see that he was still stood in the doorway.
"Can I help you with anything else?" I asked with an annoyed sigh.
"Can I use your shower?" He asked after a second. He sounded amused, but I didn't look at him.
"Mm, go ahead." I beckoned him out of the room without thinking, as I reached up to grab the stain remover from the shelf above the washer, glad that he would be out of my hair for a bit. "The stuff in the bucket labelled 'M' by the shower is mine. I have shit in there you can use."
"And a razor? Should I just borrow yours too?"
I whirled my head around to the figure in the doorway. He had his arm rested against the frame and was grinning at me. No fucking way in hell was he going to use my razor-
"I'm just messing with ya!" he said with a laugh and was gone in a flash.
I stood there for a second, looking at the empty doorway, before shaking my head and averting my attention back to his shirt. What an idiot.
After letting the shirt soak for a few minutes, I threw it in the wash and almost started the load before I realized that it would be stupid of me to run an entire cycle for one article of clothing. I decided to head to my room to grab my hamper and wash his shirt alongside the pile of clothes I already had a load planned for.
Once the machine started, I leisurely made my way back out into the hallway. Harry was nowhere to be found and, upon walking by the bathroom, I could hear that he was still in the shower. A soft voice singing an incomprehensible tune travelled over the sound of the water running.
I debated sitting on the couch and waiting for him to come out so that I could use the bathroom to shower and brush my teeth, but I found it to be extremely boring to just sit and wait – especially without a phone, so I decided to utilize my time by making up his bed for the night.
Christ, that boy took a while to shower.
I wedged the sheet into the corners of the cushions and laid out the comforter, placing both of the pillows at the head of the couch facing the kitchen. Stifling a yawn, I wandered back into my room and over to my closet, thinking about how I would probably have to lend him something to sleep in for the night. Did I even have anything that would fit him?
After some thorough digging, I found one of my Dad's old shirts that I had brought with me to University and an oversized pair of sweatpants. The more that I thought about it, Harry wasn't too big of a guy himself and these pants may even be a little loose on him. I took the neatly folded clothes back outside of my room and placed them on the couch.
Eyeing a Post-it notes pad and pen that sat on the counter, I walked over and snatched them both up. Scribbling on the small square of paper, I wrote:
Need the clothes back in the morning. Don't steal them.
Sleep Well.
Night.
Too long.
Need the clothes back in the morning.
Night.
Too weird?
Clothes – give them back. Sorry about your nose.
Too short.
Have a good sleep.
Here are some clothes, I will need them back.
Thank you so much.
Thank you so much? Christ, was this a formal e-mail? I groaned to myself and leaned back against the couch, before crossing out yet another note and crumpling it up to throw in the bin. All I was trying to do was write a simple note and of course, my anxious brain had to make it a daunting and scary task.
Feeling the heaviness in my eyes, I took a deep breath and scribbled on a final Post-it note:
Need the clothes back in the morning.
Sleep well – night.
Satisfied, I ripped the paper off of the pad and stuck it on the pile of folded clothes that I had laid out beside me. I rested my hands on my thighs, drumming my fingers, and staring into the distance for a few moments wondering if maybe I would hear the shower stop, before finally deciding to throw the pad and pen back onto the counter and head to my room.
Harry was still in the shower when I walked by.
He was also in the shower when I got into my room and decided that there wasn't even a point in the note that I had written because I was definitely still going to be up to talk to him when he got out anyway.
He was again still in the shower when I laid down and thought over in my head what I was going to say to him when he finally did emerge. I couldn't say though if he was still in the shower when I ended up falling asleep, fully clothed, on my bed, succumbing to the exhaustion of the night that had finally caught up to me.